Drove down with Nads. Great journey, good chat, top music (listened to Wardy's radio show, Broken Family Band, culminating in some very loud Back In Black on arrival). Hooked up with Kieran, Bernie, Martin, Sarah B, Sonia and settled in (chucked bag on bed, got beer in hand).
I almost made the mistake of missing The Bronx as first band. They were a great start to the first night (singer has a Henry Rollins fixation, methinks). Other highlights include:
- booze
- Bon Iver (so good - blubbing with Nads...getting to be a habit...)
- Buffalo Killers - good 70s rock vibe, great vocals
I flaked out a bit around this point, so I went back to the apartment on my own, and joy of joys, Rebecca was on TV. I've seen that film at least 20 times, but never tire of it. Clever Hitch, evil Danvers...had Pot Noodle and curled up on the sofa...
Supper
Up early on Saturday - who could lie in on a bed that uncomfortable, with the rubber sheet crackling every time you turn over? Rubber sheets...middle-aged bed wetters must be all the rage at Butlins... We cooked a huge communal breakfast - I drank about a gallon of tea, trying to get over my hangover. Went for a wander, then out for the first band, Whispertown 2000. Ok, but a bit too cute for me. Blood Red Shoes next - good, lot of noise for two people. Bumped into Michael (Folk Idol fake beard wearer - see Viking Gods post) and his lady friend. Shared my Jaffa Cakes with them (nothing if not generous, me), then sneaked back to the flat for a little lie-down (point to note: this WAS NOT a nap, it was a lie-down...). Managed to rouse myself for Wire, who were great, and woke me up a bit. Next up, Mr Albini.
Shellac are unfeasibly tight, random and brilliant. From the moment Steve straps his guitar around his waist, Bob step up to the mic, and Todd holds those sticks high, I am pretty giddy. We (T & V, Nads, Tom, Ulanda) all go up front. I bump into John Doran (lovely big hairy journalist - Stool Pigeon, Metalhammer, Plan B, Drowned In Sound, Classic Rock...) and it's nice to catch up. Haven't seen him since the pirate ship and the Metalhammer Awards, which is a massive blur due to Jäger intake... Anyway, back to Mr Albini et al. They are so good. When they play "End Of Radio" and say "John Peel was a helluva guy", they get a huge cheer. They hold a hilarious Q&A with the audience while Steve retunes. "You with the beard" said Bob. "Oh...you all have beards" he noted. They completely lifted my spirits after my earlier lull, so I waded straight into the beers...
Popped over to watch a bit of the Breeders. Kim and Kelley Deal are twins, Kelley being minutes older than Kim. She often plays the age superiority card, and they have great banter. Kelley is into knitting (aren't all ex-heroin addicts???) and is running knit-a-thons throughout the weekend. Kim has one of my favourite voices in rock - I still listen to Pixies all the time, and at a weak moment, Gigantic can still make me get mushy. But here's the problem...they clash with Tricky, and after reading a recent review in The Observer of his recent performance, it seemed madness to miss him...
What a smart move. When I got back to Centre Stage, he was already on stage. The sound was incredible. And he is mesmerising. I honestly couldn't take my eyes off him. Not just because he's so well kept, naked and has great ink...I close my eyes and drift off a few times...mmmmm...
Need food, so fish and chips beckon. Go with Nads and Ulanda and the lovely chap who serves us asks if we're all sisters, which is very touching, as I'd be proud to be a third sister to that family. Once we've stuffed our faces, we go back for Zach Hill. Now, it's a well-known fact that I'm a big fan of all things drummer. But 45 minutes of just drumming of a mental odd style is too much even for me. It was a big self-indulgent drum-wank-fest. But the spotty youths at the front seemed to like it...
Last but not least, Mariachi El Bronx. Ok, so The Bronx play loud, fast melodic hardcore. And their alter-egos play mariachi. Yup, the same guys dress up in Mexican outfits and play mariachi. Freaky. But good! And Kelley deal appears on stage and duets with them:
Top fun. Holy Fuck are last, and despite them being pretty good, I have to pass and get back for some kip.
Sunday dawned. Pissing it down. Felt very ropey. Needed fresh sea air and a walk. Ended up in...McDonalds. Only about the third time in my life that I've ever been in one, but I needed to steal their internet connection for a Skype session, so needs must and all that...then on to Tesco for painkillers. Back just in time for HUGE breakfast cooked by the lovely Bernie. Caught a bit of Times New Viking (ok), but then remembered it was T's birthday. Bollocks. Went back to Tesco, bought him a cake and candles, and arranged a surprise sing-song in the pub. He looked genuinely touched, so well worth the effort made in my feeble state. Couldn't concentrate much...saw a bit of Melt Banana (melted my face, let alone banana). Time for hair of the dog. Sat with Hudds posse over beers, when during a discussion about music, Tom mentioned Lonnie Donegan. Ulanda said she knew I really liked him. Confusion reigned. Turns out she meant Mark Lanegan. Not the same. Very, very funny. Imagine Mark Lanegan in an arran jumper playing a washboard, I beg you...
Watched Shellac again. And it was just as good second time around. Then Supersuckers. Wow. I couldn't stop smiling. We all loved them. Showbiz. Any band that has a song called "She Used To Be Pretty, Now She's Pretty Fucked Up" has to be a winner. They told us "we have Supersuckers crap for sale in the tenty thing outside", so being a couple of supersuckers, me and Tom bought a CD and a tshirt. Merch stalls - endless hours of fun...
Final band of the weekend - X. Now this was an odd one...because it wouldn't have mattered whether they were good or not (incidentally, they were pretty good) because my entire group of friends were completely entranced by the guitarist, Billy Zoom. Imagine if you will...a guitarist, one part Rutger Hauer, one part Christopher Walken, James Dean outfit, with a thimble of Bing Crosby in the parup-a-pum-pum Bowie video and teeth like a Yorkshire Terrier (!?@*?!). While you're imagining, try and picture that Rock Frankenstein looking at every single girl in the audience and mouthing stuff like "you and me, let's get it on" and much worse. Hilarious. And I've just Wiki'd him - he's 61.
Billy Zoom Spreads 'Em For The Ladies
The finale of the evening and the weekend was a stint in the Crazy Horse Saloon (who thinks these names up?), where music lovers of all ages get shitfaced and dance their little tits off to anything that takes their fancy. Our fancy was taken by the Stooges, Only Ones, and a particularly energetic stint of pogoing to Joy Division. I blame the Jim Beam...
Had to be up at 9am. Oh dear. Not good. Bad head. Gut rot. Long drive ahead. Fond farewells accomplished, I noticed the sun was shining, and after such a great weekend, it would be rude to be too miserable...Ray Bans on, we waved bye-bye to Butlins...until next year.
